The Promise of Jesse Woods (39 page)

He took a breath. “I got out and called to her. Asked her what happened. She was shaking and crying. Shivering. She couldn’t speak.” He leaned against the pine paneling and it creaked.

“I went to the side of the house to help her down, and that’s when I saw Wendell. He was on his back, his arm spread. His head twisted in a weird angle. I could tell he was dead from his eyes—I felt for a pulse and there was nothing.

“Jesse asked me to bring the ladder to the front of the house. I climbed up and sat with her. When she could speak, she said her father was going to hurt her. He had a gambling debt and needed money. She had a gun but she couldn’t shoot him. She had taken the deed from him somehow, and he came after her. He said she could either sign it or he would kill her and he’d inherit the land.”

He walked slowly to the other side of his desk and sat, moving his Bible. “She threw the gun into the field so he couldn’t find it. Then she put the ladder against the roof, next to the electric wire. She hoped he’d follow and grab it in his drunken condition. And it was either that or the fall that killed him. She begged me not to tell anyone what she had done.”

“What did you say to her?”

He swallowed hard. “I told her I wouldn’t tell. And I said we would help her with Daisy Grace. The church has a benevolence fund. And there was a lawyer who could help her keep the farm, if that’s what she wanted. If she wanted to sell, he would help her do that.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked what she had to do in order to receive that care.”

“And you said?”

He closed his eyes. “I said it was easy. All she had to do was give you up.”

I turned to the window and stared at the water coming down. “And if she didn’t give me up?”

“I would tell the sheriff all I knew. That she had planned her father’s death. There would be a trial and Daisy would be sent away.”

“You didn’t.”

He nodded. “I did.”

“Why? It was self-defense. And she was a kid. She was just trying to save herself and her sister.”

“It’s all turned out for the best. Don’t you see? Your mother was adamant that we steer you two away from each other. I went along with it. And to her credit, Jesse has never held it against me. She and Earl asked me to do the ceremony and I said an enthusiastic yes, partly because I wanted this to be the end. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the wedding.”

I slid into the wooden chair beside his desk. Lightning flashed outside and a few seconds later thunder rumbled the windowpane.

“I always felt responsible for his death,” I said. “I thought it was my fault.”

“Why would you feel that way?”

“Because Jesse told her dad if he touched me again, she would kill him. And he grabbed me. So if I hadn’t been there . . .”

“It was never your fault, Matt.”

“What about Mom? Did she know this?”

He shook his head like a child caught in a lie. “I’ve never told her. And Jesse never talked, as far as I know.” He looked up. “How did you put it together?”

“She said something last night. That some promises cancel others out. I always thought she shut me out after that night because I had made her kill her father.”

“Why would you think that?”

“It’s what I believed for so long. But she was really just keeping her promise to you. She was protecting Daisy.”

“We helped her, Matt. The church came around her. Not perfectly, of course, but she’s done so well.”

“You kept Blackwood from taking her place.”

He nodded. “Basil wanted the riffraff away. I think he wanted the memory of what Gentry did to Jesse to go away, too.”

I stared at his desk and remembered the Polaroid he’d made me surrender.

“Now you have a choice, Matt. You’ve gotten what you wanted. You know the truth. If you expose this, it will come back on her. And me.”

“But you can release her. She’s trapped, Dad. She’s like the horse we found.”

He stared at me and I realized he had no idea what I was talking about.

Finally he said, “What good would releasing her do? She’s marrying Earl.”

“She deserves to make that decision free and clear. Release her from the promise she made.”

“And if I do and she says she loves you, the Turleys will make her life a nightmare. And yours, too. Earl deserves better than this. He’s an honorable man. No, the best thing is to move on. I think you know that.”

“What about the best thing for me, Dad? What if I love her?”

“I’ll never understand why you chose Jesse. Your mother would have been fine with any other girl in town, but you had to—”

“So this is about Mom? She pushed you into keeping us apart?”

“We both agreed Jesse wouldn’t be right. With all we knew about the Woods family . . .”

“What right did you have to decide that?”

“We had every right. I’m your father. And I believe her choice of Earl means she wants to move on. The question is, will you let her? Will you do the hard thing and let her?”

I didn’t answer.

“I’ve always tried to teach you that the Christian life is not about making the easiest choice. It’s sometimes the harder way to live. I believe every person is called to do one difficult thing in life. And I think you have come to that place. This is your chance to sacrifice.”

His voice was even and controlled. The gentle and reassuring sound usually calmed me, but not today. And as the rain fell and streaked the window, I didn’t hold back.

“I could ask you to do the same thing.”

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1984

My mother did not understand why I was home. My father spoke in hushed tones as I fell into bed, exhausted. I slept like a dead man. I didn’t think, didn’t dream, didn’t feel.

I woke to my alarm the next morning, my parents gone. I showered and dressed in one of my father’s suits, the coat and shirt fitting nicely, the pants loose. I drove to the church and parked behind it near the field and picnic tables. Slipping in the back door, I was met by Shirley Turley. Jesse was right—she had become a beautiful mother, and the kindness in her eyes surprised me.

“I didn’t think you’d come to this,” Shirley said, glancing at the front door.

“Don’t let your brothers know I’m here,” I said.

She gave a smile and I stole to my old spot on the bride’s side and sat close to the wall. Everything in me wanted to scream this wasn’t fair. But the revelation in my father’s office made me believe I could make the hard choice. And it wasn’t because I wanted to protect him, but to do the loving thing for Jesse.

A wedding is the beginning of two lives becoming one. It’s a celebration of abundant life. For me, this day was a funeral for a long-held dream. And I knew I needed to stare at the casket to believe reality.

My father arrived with the groom and his party and ducked into his office. He exited and quickly approached when he noticed me.

“You shouldn’t put yourself through this,” he said, sitting by me.

“I need to.”

“You’re not going to disrupt—”

“It’s nothing like that. It would be like stopping at the bottom of Golgotha, you know? I have to climb the whole way.”

He smiled a little and put a hand on my shoulder. “I understand.”

His touch felt somewhat like a kiss of betrayal, but that was something I would deal with later.

My mother walked down the aisle. Her gait was slowing. It was partly her age but also the toll of all she had been through with her life, her marriage, and her sons. She stopped and put her purse beside me, sheet music tucked under her arm.

“I thought you would still be sleeping.”

“Like the suit?” I said.

She smiled, then moved toward the piano. The prelude consisted of hymns of the Savior’s love and classical pieces that felt like sad longing and I closed my eyes. I had wanted the truth and I finally possessed it. But as I sat there, I wondered if the truth was what I
really
wanted. Was the truth enough?

I felt a presence beside me and looked up at Basil Blackwood in a dark suit, his hair slicked back with Brylcreem. He had not received the memo about using “a little dab.” His face was grim, lines deeper than the Grand Canyon, and there was a skin anomaly on his left cheek that needed attention.

He leaned down, hands on his knees, head dipped so he looked at the floor. His voice was low and gravelly. “Do we have a problem here?”

I remembered the Polaroid he had destroyed and my father’s betrayal. His thirty pieces of silver were this church.

“No, sir.”

He edged closer and his breath smelled of stale tobacco. “Then I’d like you to leave. The bride and groom have requested it.”

“Mr. Blackwood, I’ve waited a long time for this. A friend of mine is going to walk down that aisle and out of my life for good. I aim to see it.”

“Verle will haul you out of here.”

I caught his gaze. “You’ve been calling the shots a long
time. And you can remove me. But it’ll be a fight. I don’t think you want that.”

He stood erect, looked at the door to the sanctuary, and shook his head. I turned and saw Verle, but I wasn’t afraid. I hadn’t come here to change the outcome of the service, just to witness it.

The door to my father’s office opened again and he walked out leading Earl. The bridesmaids walked down the aisle in pretty, flowered dresses that might have been from a department store. When Shirley passed, she smiled at me. Then, something I hadn’t prepared for, something wild and wonderful—Daisy Grace came down the aisle carrying a bouquet of daisies, pulling them one by one and letting them fall on her sister’s path. She was beautiful and tall. The little girl in the backyard with the stubby-tooth smile was grown, and I had to wipe away the unanticipated emotion.

My mother’s hands fell on the sacred chords of the song I knew as “Here Comes the Bride,” and pews creaked as everyone stood. I rose out of duty and my stomach lurched. I took a couple of deep breaths to settle it.

And there she was.

Jesse Woods, as I had never seen her, but as I had always seen her, walked alone. She glanced at the daisies and I saw those front teeth and the view flooded my mind, the fishing trips and bike hikes and the little cemetery at the end of the road and her sister’s gravestone. The voice of her mother and Carl’s bark and all the dusty roads we shared. School bus rides and sorting out life by citizens band—and then the severing, cold silence.

As she passed, she glanced at me and the surprise on her face let me know Blackwood had lied about her requesting I leave.

I smiled and nodded, and she continued and took Earl’s hands. My father skipped the part where he asked, “Who gives this woman?” There was no one to give Jesse away. And that was fitting. No one could have given her away but me. And that was exactly what I was doing.

The congregation sat as my father began his “Dearly beloved” message, and a strange sense of peace came over me. There are some things you do from duty and some that come from sheer love, but you don’t realize the difference. Right then, in that pew where I had sat as a teenager, where I had heard the message of sacrifice and offering, things came into focus. I was letting go not because I was required to by any force on earth or principality or power in heaven. I was letting go because I wanted to
for Jesse
. That release, that surrender, felt like nails in my wrists, but at the same time like love from a bursting heart.

“Marriage is an honorable institution given by God,” my father said. “Ordained by him and a picture of his bride, the church. What you see before you is the way God chose to describe the culmination of all of history. Jesus will return as the Bridegroom for his church.”

“Amen,” someone said behind me.

My mother slipped into the seat beside me and patted my hand. She unwrapped a peppermint and put it in her mouth, clearing her throat.

My father gazed over the congregation, then looked
straight at me. “If any of you has reason why these two should not be married, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

I stared at my hands. Then my fingernails. The hush over the congregation was palpable. I looked at Basil Blackwood on the front row of the other side, his bald spot glistening red.

“Very well,” my father said.

And with that, it was over. The ceremony would continue with rings exchanged and
I dos
and pronouncement of man and wife and “you may kiss the bride.” It was a fait accompli. The reception downstairs would be an awkward affair, and I would pay my respects and give my blessing and slip out quietly. Or maybe I would just skip the reception and head toward Chicago.

It was the silence that unnerved me. I looked up and saw my father in a state of confusion. He paused and faltered as if he had forgotten the order of service. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead, then brought a glass of water to his lips, his hand trembling. Then he touched his temple.

Jesse leaned forward and said, “Are you okay, Pastor Plumley?”

He looked at her, then closed his eyes tightly. “Oh, dear.”

A murmur went through the congregation and my mother turned to me. “Something’s not right. I think he’s having a stroke.”